New Threads
by IcarusWing
Summary: In which England's eyebrows are forcibly reduced. Oneshot.


**A/N: Random piece of crack that I dug from the depths of my laptop. I'm not really sure what brought this on. Enjoy.**

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England strolled through an Italian park, feeling the wind on his face as he headed toward the World Summit, where he'd have to spend hours in a stuffy conference room with various other countries. He paused to order some _gelato_ from a small kiosk, felling it was the best way to enjoy this beautiful afternoon while he still could.

He'd been wandering Italy like a tourist all morning, seeing the country in a light that wasn't political. The architecture was old and beautiful, and the streets were loud and full of friendly people, the smell of food wafting through the air as peddlers yelled out prices for their various blanks and confections.

As he'd walked, though, he'd noticed a small, dark salon called _Nuove Discussioni. _New Threads. The posters in the windows were of beautiful Italian women, and England assumed it must be a place to get skin treatments or some such things. However, it was very dark, even though the sign in the window clearly read _OPEN._

_Very strange, _he'd thought. _I may as well see what it's all about, while I'm still here._

He'd walked in, a bell jingling above the door to signal a new customer. He'd strolled up to the counter, looking around. It was dim, but professionally furnished, with medical patient lounges and metal tables affixed to the ground at each station. A thick set older woman walked up the counter, rifling through some papers and not looking at him. "Si?" she had asked.

"Um—" was all he had managed to get out. The woman had glanced up, and all her papers fell to the floor as her hands rose to her face in terror.

_"E 'il diavolo!"_

"E-excuse me?" England had spluttered, taken aback. He looked around, but there was no one else there. Was there something on his face?

"_Maria!" _a male voice had called, and its owner bustled to the front of the store and supported the woman, who appeared to have gone weak-kneed.

"Cosa succ— mio Dio," he said, skin paling as he caught sight of England.

_"What's wrong with my face?" _he demanded.

He dropped Maria before coming around the counter and taking England's hand in his. "Come," he had said in heavily accented English. "Treatment free for you, _infelice."_

"What are you talking—" England was shoved into a chair before he could finish his sentence.

"This hurt," the man had said, pulling on rubber gloves and preparing some tools next to him as he spoke. "But it all for best."

England sat still, too frightened to move. What were these deranged people going to do to him? He wished his damned curiosity hadn't gotten the better of him for once.

His thoughts were cut off when the man loomed over him, and for the next hour and a half, the upper half of his face had felt like it was being continuously stabbed by tiny needles. He'd struggled and struggled, but workers held onto his arms, while Maria had kept his legs in place. "No struggle," she grunted, determined to keep him from leaving before his 'treatment' was finished. "It be for best."

Finally, it was over, and the lower half of his forehead stung. He'd felt it gingerly, but the man had swatted his hand away, dabbing a poultice onto the affected area. "Will help," he said, though England wasn't sure if he trusted him, after being _assaulted _like he had. When the man moved, he stood back to admire his work, and Maria (England assumed them to be married at this point) joined him as he wiped a tear from his eye. "It pleases me to help those in need. God bless your soul," he said, as England quickly left the shop.

And there he was, eating _gelato _in the park, trying to get to the meeting he was almost late for, feeling like a new man.

England flashed his ID at the door man before heading to the elevator with a brisk pace, dropping his plastic spoon and bowl in the trash can on the way. He rode up, slipping his note cards out of his pocket, quickly reviewing his presentation on the current state of his economy. The elevator _dinged _as the doors slid open, and he opened the large double doors of the conference room.

England was not the last one, and the meeting hadn't started. He slid into his seat across from America, who was slurping a Coke and chomping on a burger.

"Hey England, what took you so—_dude, what happened to your face?"_

England touched his eyebrows self-consciously. "I'm not sure myself."

America, after swooping down to retrieve the burger he'd dropped in surprise, couldn't stop ogling at the space just above England's eyes.

"You look so _different,_" he said.

"I hope that'd not a _bad_ thing," voiced England, slightly worried.

America's eyes widened. "No, not at—"

"Ahh, Anglettere, you 'ave arrived!"

England groaned.

"Yes, I have," he said.

"May I ask, Amerique," said France, coming around the side of the table to join America, "what is so special about Anglettere today zat you stare—_saccre bleu." _

The Frenchman dropped the half-eaten croissant he was carrying as he, too, began to stare.

_"Stop that," _demanded England. "It wasn't my bloody fault!"

"Zen what 'appened?"

And England explained the full story about the pair of Italians.

As he spoke, other countries gathered, whispering exclamations and taking pictures as they saw England's new eyebrows. _Really,_ thought England, _all this for one little change…._

"_ATTENTION!" _

All of the present nations turned in fear at the sound of Germany, at the head of the table. _"Sit down, all of you," _he said menacingly.

"Now," he began. "Vhile England's new… look… is very _exciting,_ ve need to get back to the meeting. Who vould like to start?" he asked, looking around the room.

A few hands went up, and Germany officially started the meeting, sitting as Japan began to talk about the cutting edge technology that he'd been developing in his country.

England smiled quietly to himself. To have such a fuss made over a small thing like that…

He couldn't wait to find a new way to surprise them.


End file.
